


Patching Up

by themegalosaurus



Series: J2 Set Stories [8]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s12e01 Keep Calm and Carry On, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt Jared, Hurt Jared Padalecki, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, On Set, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 14:54:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8332024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/pseuds/themegalosaurus
Summary: Jared's worn out after filming 12x01. Jensen makes it better.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Even for me in the context of this series this is SHAMELESS SCHMOOP so um yes... I can offer no excuses for that.

“Hey, you ready to head?”

Jensen looks up. He’s been ready for a couple of hours, hanging around in his trailer for Jared to get back from the warehouse location he’s been working in all day. The scenes in the bunker with Cas and Mary wrapped a while ago, filming with Misha a hell of a lot faster when they’ve got Samantha still finding her feet alongside them rather than Jared hell-bent on disruption. Jensen could already be at home, cooking dinner and chilling beer and trying to marshal together the rapidly evaporating remnants of his hiatus relaxation, which is feeling more fragmented by the day. But he wanted to wait. Jare had a tough scene scheduled and his messages have been disquietingly brief. Usually there’s a constant stream of nonsense coming Jensen’s way, photos of Jared and whatever guest star he’s working with making goofy faces or waving props or pretending to fall asleep on set; terrible puns or ideas for movies that Jared wants to watch together or, sometimes, sexual propositions so outrageous Jensen has to angle his phone screen surreptitiously away from the crew. Today though it’s just been short responses to Jensen’s careful, more-or-less lowkey checking in. ‘Fine.’ ‘Not yet.’ ‘On our way.’ Nothing serious, but a little bit off.

So when the door of his trailer swings open and a familiar broad frame appears, Jensen slips instantly into surveillance mode, checking Jared over for any signs he’s not doing so good. And, well. Jared’s wearing his beanie, which might just mean he’s cold after having water dumped on him all day; but the hat’s snugged right down close to his eyebrows and he’s also wearing one of the new black hoodies they’ve got lined up for their next campaign. This is like… Jared comfort armour, and the combination of the sweater and the hat doesn’t do anything to soothe Jensen’s unease.

“Y’alright?” he says, getting to his feet.

“Yeah,” Jared says, quiet. He’s leaning on the doorframe, long lines of his body slumped awkwardly into the wall. “I’m just tired, man. Long day.”

“Alright,” Jensen says. “Nearly done.” He grabs his bag, glances around the trailer to check for his stuff, and walks over to the door. Jared’s still there, head hanging; he doesn’t move, even when Jensen gets right up in his space. “Hey,” says Jensen, and crooks his forefinger under Jared’s chin, lifts it and kisses him, just a peck. “You good?”

Jared flattens out his mouth into a half-hearted smile, nods and looks away over Jensen’s shoulder. “I’m fine.” Then he breathes in, smiles bigger, looks Jensen in the eye. “I’m fine. Let’s get going.”

Jared hangs back so Jensen ends up leading the way, one-two bounce on either foot down the steps of the trailer and then a walk down the side of the lot to where Clif’s left the car. He’s gone a good few paces before he looks behind and sees Jared following stiffly, his expression tight. A little shiver of worry runs up the sides of Jensen’s face, settles in his temples.

“You hurt yourself?” he says, jogging back. He makes himself grin. “Every time, man.”

“Cut my feet up,” Jared says. “A bit. It’s okay.”

Jensen harumphs in his throat. Jared’s huge of course but he looks little in his hoodie and hat, shuffling gingerly over the asphalt. Without making a conscious decision, Jensen finds himself settling a hand in the small of Jared’s back, supporting him and steering him forward. They’re not usually big on PDA. He just.

Jared’s footsteps falter and he looks at Jensen, eyebrows raised. Jensen drops his hand. Stung and trying not to be, he starts walking again. It’s fine. Jared might not wanna be touched right now. That’s fine. Then “Hey,” says Jared, from behind him, and his big warm paw is enveloping Jensen’s, fingers interlocking tight. “OK?”

Flustered that he feels so flustered, Jensen squeezes Jared’s hand, slows his pace.

Jared doesn’t let go until they get to the car, walking around it to slide in on the opposite side. As they pull out of the lot, Jensen looks over, fingers already straying tentative over the space between them. He’d like, really, to have Jared close against him right now; probably lying down across the seat with his head in Jensen’s lap. Maybe it’s playing Sam and Dean so long but they’ve always been better at physical communication; they reassure each other with a clap on the shoulder, a hand on the thigh, a hug. He’d feel better if he could hug Jared (wouldn’t he always?), chest to chest with broad muscle and the beat of Jared’s heart. Instead, he settles for resting his hand close to Jared’s in the central seat, fingers brushing as the car turns and brakes and starts and stops on the route back to the apartments.

When they get in Jared heads straight for the couch, collapsing gangly into the corner seat on a long exhale. Jensen kicks off his boots, dumps his keys on the side and goes to sit beside Jared, stacking the pizzas that he had Clif stop off for in a pile on the table in front of them. He reaches over to tug at Jared’s thigh, insistent until Jared gives in and swings around so that his legs are resting over Jensen’s and his head is propped against the arm of the couch. Jensen passes him a cushion.

“You gonna hand feed me?” Jared says, doing his best baby bird impression. Jensen swats at his leg. He feels better already with Jared’s thighs lying heavy across his own.

He doesn’t hand feed Jared but they do eat the pizzas, probably too much pizza but this evening something hot and cheesy and comforting feels exactly right. Jared wolfs the stuff down with his usual enormous appetite; fights Jensen for the last slice of pepperoni; and relaxes, all over, his face losing the tense lines it had been set in when he came off set. At some point he tugs off his beanie and his hair springs out fluffy and wild where it’s dried without interference. Crooked up in the corner of the couch with his hoodie and his pizza and his curls, Jared looks strikingly like he did twelve years before, back when they were shooting the very first series and Jensen was dizzy with the confusing weight of his feelings for this funny, skinny kid. The memory of it settles vividly over him, soaking through his skin and down into his bones. He wants to whisper a word in the ear of the guy he was back then; tell him not to worry so much, to relax. Tell him it all works out.

When they’re done eating Jensen scooches right down to the far end of the couch and tugs at Jared’s socks.

“Let’s see the damage,” he says.

Jared wrinkles his nose. “It’s fine.”

“I’m just looking,” Jensen says, and he pulls off the sock and takes a peek at the sole of Jared’s left foot. “Oh,” he says. “Hey.” It’s not too bad, really, in the grand scheme of Jared’s injuries; hardly a broken wrist or a dislocated shoulder or the violent bout of food poisoning he suffered after eating raw ribs. But there are still cuts and scrapes all over the sole of his foot - all over both feet, Jensen rapidly confirms - and the worst of them are bleeding sluggishly where the fabric of the sock has pulled away. “Hey,” he says again, and cups his hand over the top of Jared’s foot. “That looks sore.”

“It’s okay,” says Jared. “Sam’s got some very nasty burns. I’m better off than him.” He’s settled back now, eyes closed, looking like he might drift off.

“Yeah,” says Jensen. “Sure. I’m just gonna…” And he slides out from under Jared’s legs. “I’ll be back in a second, OK?”

“Mmm,” says Jared.

When Jensen sits back down he’s equipped with a bowl of hot soapy water and a cloth. He tries not to think too deeply about what he’s doing; knows Jared would rib him for it mercilessly if he were in a different mood. Now, though, when he dabs the damp cloth against Jared’s feet, Jared just opens one eye a fraction and smiles at him before closing it again.

“Thanks,” he says.

“No problem,” Jensen says. He’s careful in his task; cleans across the sole of Jared’s foot with gentle touches and sticks band-aids over the deepest cuts. He thinks about Sam and Dean, mending each other’s wounds; thinks about what it means to do this for the person you love. He thinks about how much it means to be able to fix something so simply, when there have been times over these past few years that there were problems which he couldn’t patch up. He thinks about how glad he is to have Jared here to wave his big dumb feet in his face.

“I love you,” he says eventually, as a substitute for all that. 

“Love you too,” says Jared, a little hoarse; and when Jensen looks up he sees the shine of tear tracks down the sides of Jared’s face. 

“Hey,” says Jensen, gripping tight around Jared’s shin.

“I’m okay,” says Jared, and he opens his eyes, blinks up at Jensen through wet eyelashes. “Really. Thanks dude. I just. It was a hard day, for Sam. And I was thinking how lucky I am.”

“Yeah,” says Jensen. He still has to record Dean’s dialogue for that scene. _“It was all your fault. It’s your fault, Sam. Freak. Why don’t you just die?”_ He’s not looking forward to it all that much.

“Ugh,” says Jared, and wipes the arm of his hoodie under his nose.

“That’s disgusting,” Jensen says automatically.

“You’re disgusting,” Jared says. He kicks his heels against Jensen’s thighs. “You done?”

“I’m done.”

“Then come hug me, you jerk.”

Jensen does, crawls down the couch so he’s lying right on top of Jared, soft in his hoodie but underneath, warm and solid and sure. “You can kiss me, now,” he says, and Jared kisses him on the nose.

“You’re gonna have to carry me to bed, you realise,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcome (even if they are just mocking me for my marshmallowy emotional self-indulgence)


End file.
